Maple Vodka
by Seiliez Wingalas
Summary: Canada is washed overboard on the way to visit France. finding himself on the frozen shore of a cold country with a Ominous shadow hanging overhead, what could possibly make it worse? RusXCan.
1. Dead

**Alright, new beginning, I'm getting there on the reposting and editing and…and…and~ .ect. Please forgive the delay! Love you alll~! ^J^**

A faint roar of thunder heralded the retreat of a storm over the cold, gray ocean. It had ravaged and passed these grounds, leaving a frozen feeling of calm in its wake. Down at the waters edge a wet bundle on the rocky flotsam-strewn tide line stirred.

Seawater and bile flooded from Matthew's lungs and he coughed feebly. He shifted a bit and groaned, vomiting up more salt water forth with a gurgling groan as the movement jarred his insides unpleasantly. He continued retching until most of the acrid liquid had been evacuated from his newly revived lungs. Matthew felt as if he was breathing liquid nitrogen, so cold that it burned him with a painfully icy fire. Strength took its sweet time returning to him, leaving him to lay there, eyes closed and breath coming in wheezing gasps that slowly evened out as his body worked its weakened abilities in overtime to repair itself.

Steady ripples of ice-cold water ebbed and lapped at his lower legs, diamond hard stones pressed into his skin with harsh resilience, and jabbed into his skin. Wincing, Matthew tried to open his eyes, closing them reflexively at the seemingly blinding light – however dim it truly was— met them. His muscles screamed as he heaved himself to his knees, cautiously trying his eyes out once again. Peering through his golden lashes, only open to a sliver, he blinked rapidly, trying to adjust. The feeling bringing on a sensation like flaming butterfly kisses, which—however painful—improved his tolerance to an acceptable level.

He looked up, tottering to his feet unsteadily and looked about in confusion.

_Where _am_ I? _

Snow covered trees in the distance, pebbles and jagged rocks stretching to the tree line, to salty to hold a layer of white, as everything else did.

With a lurching and stumbling gait, he began to walk—each step loosing strength and steadiness—towards the trees. At the edge of the trees, each hung with shells of frost and ice, he fell. Muscles momentarily giving out, he slumped to his knees- with a jerk he fell backwards, startled by the shock of what he had nearly fallen on top of.

There, half buried in the snow, was a corpse. The raw wind ruffled his golden hair as he stared in horror at the man's frozen face.

His exhausted and flustered mind entertained the idea that the dead soldier might be watching him for any reaction. He tried not to show any, not fear, not disgust, not horror, or outrage, a shiver none the less raced through him – from cold just as much from fear—and he found himself glancing over his shoulder nervously.

He stole a glance at the man's eyes. They were dull and filmy. Matthew had heard people say that the dead appeared to be sleeping. He didn't. His eyes were dead, blank, like the eyes of fish at the market, his pale lips were taut, his face waxy. There was a dent in his head; dark bluish bruises on his face and neck, and a small trail of dried blood tracing a line from the corner of his mouth.

He had been killed, murdered, and left to freeze. Matthew shuddered at the thought.

_What a horrible way to die._

He sighed, and then held his breath, digging a hand hesitantly into the dead man's pocket, there was little in it, only a few coins. Matthew froze, oh god, rubles.

Previously he had not known where he had washed up after falling off of his ship – on the way to visit his father, France. —Now he knew that the country he had ended up in was Russia. One of the places he had planned never to go to if he could help it. But it seemed that he couldn't, he was here after all.

He groaned quietly, shivering, horrified by his own behavior, and dug his hand into another of the man's pockets.

:::

" Вы знаете, не вежливо вырыть через карманы мертвеца, люди могли получить неправильную идею." (You know, its not polite to dig through a dead man's pockets, people could get he wrong idea.)

Matthew jumped, and spun around at the cheery Russian words, landing in an instinctively protective crouch.

His stomach flopped unpleasantly. He knew the man standing in front of him, though he doubted that the man remembered him. No one did, even people like this man, and his overly protective brother, Alfred – or America—who had been around him on a regular basis for years. Canada was easily forgotten, and often found he was ignored, for simply not seen, even when he was right in front of someone. A bitter feeling ached through him at the lack of recognition on the tall man's face; though it was probably better that he didn't recognize Matthew.

It was Russia that stood before him, arms crossed and expression dangerously cheerful. A whitish violet scarf— matching his silvery hair more than his mauve eyes— was pulled up around his mouth, lightly muffling his voice. His beige and brown duster flicking in the wind.

"I-I d-don't understand y-you…" Matthew said softly in reply to the flowing string of words.

A look of surprise flickered across Russia's face and after a moment of inspection, smiled, so falsely friendly that it made Canada shudder with horror once again.

Truthfully, Russia was really surprised, both by the soft, shy tone of the young mans voice, especially after he had taken a battle trained stance so easily, and had been digging in a corpses pocket. As well as by the fact that a young, innocent looking young man who obviously could not speak the language was wandering around his country without a guide. In addition to this—Russia was just realizing—he was far to lightly clothed for Russia's winter climate.

"And who would you be? A little American murderer perhaps, da?"

Matthew's eyes burned with annoyance and outrage as he replied somewhat sharply, heavily restrained in his severity for fear of insult to the dangerous nation.

"I-I'm _not_ a murderer."

The silver haired man chuckled coldly at the reserved firmness of his tone. "Oh? HeT? What are you then?"

"Lost is what I am. And I'm _Canadian_, thank you."

Russia studied him briefly; he could have sworn he had heard that last exasperated statement before, but where from eluded him.

"Alright '_Lost_' perhaps you are not a murderer, da."

"M-Matthew, Matthew Williams, though I-I am also lost…" he said shyly, suddenly remembering himself. He couldn't believe he had snapped at Russia of all people.

He was well known for his ruthless, cruel, and sometimes sadistic, actions towards those that got on his bad side. Not to mention his preoccupation with getting others to 'become one' with mother Russia, as he called it. A rather embarrassing term, Matthew thought, that he used instead of absorption.

Russia cocked his head thoughtfully, his expression slightly childish. The name, also, seemed familiar, but he paid it no more mind, and advanced towards the boy and the corpse.

Matthew withdrew a little, keeping a careful eye on the tall man as he bent over the lower half of the body and began to do something to its legs, back turned on Matthew.

"I am called Ivan Braginski. You are lost? I think I will help you become un-lost, da."

With that he turned and tossed a pair of snowshoes—obviously off the feet of the dead man—into Matthews nervously fluttering hands. And began to make his way down the rocky, frozen shore. Throwing a simple "follow me," and a smile—considerably warmer than the first, though still fake looking—over his shoulder.

Matthew had no choice other than to follow him; he hadn't been lying when he said he was lost. He grasped the snowshoes to his chest and stumbled unsteadily after Ivan, legs a weak, and a little numb from cold.

To Ivan it was suddenly clear what was familiar about Matthew. He had an uncanny resemblance to Alfred, in looks at least, in attitude they were as different as fire and ice. America was brash, rowdy, loud and had a hero complex, while this young man, Matthew, seemed quiet and unobtrusive, though he had showed a bit of well-rounded verve on the subject of murder. He most certainly was not America, though the resemblance was unnerving.

He sighed inwardly, In normal circumstances he would have disliked the boy for being a reminder of yet another person who hated him, but he was in an unusually pleasant – not to mention lucid—mood. A good bottle of vodka and a warm fire waited at home.

Knowing that this boy was dying of cold because of his actions would have ruined his good mood, it was miles to the nearest town, and freezing was a long, painful way to die. While Russia found a good dose of pain caused a welcome therapeutic drug, it was not needed—as he could rarely say—at this moment, as he had said he was in a good humor, and Matthew's death would have done nothing for him.

So he lead on until they reached the end of the salty gravel that had kept snow to a minimum.

Ivan leaned against one of the first trees and began to fasten his own snowshoes to his feet, instructing Matthew to do the same. Blinking in surprised relief when Matthew did so with little trouble, clearly experienced with the various straps and buckles.

Russia turned his attention to the path ahead, barely noticing the quiet crunch of snow behind him as he lead on towards home, following his own tracks back the way he had come.

:::

Matthew was to cold to care anymore. A man that he hardly knew and that he feared was leading him to an unknown location. His father and brother had no idea where he was, though they had most likely felt him die as he had drifted at sea.

He didn't remember anything after hitting the water, but he had coughed up water when he had come to on that beach, his lungs had been filled. Who knew how many times he had died and come back to life while he was unconscious? But his country had not fallen, and therefore he had not lost his life permanently.

The water had frozen on his clothes long ago, and they now gave little protection against the frigged air, or the light feathery snow that had begun to fall. He was to cold to care, to tired, to numb, and in much to desperate a situation to care—or, for that matter, notice—it as his heart fluttered weakly, causing him to stagger.

As his body weakened, his knees gave out, as the world spun and brightened erratically, and dizzyingly. His. Heart. Raced. For. Its. Life. And. Stuttered.. To… A… Stop…

**Thanks for reading! Hope you liked the changes I made~!**

**Also, as always, if you know any of the languages in this Fic and the translations are wrong…. It's not me. I can't tell the difference!**

**Thanks for reading and please review!**

**-Sai**


	2. Alive

Chapter 2:

It took quite some time for Russia noticed the silence coming from behind him. He turned when he did, puzzled, and quickly realized that the boy was gone. Seeming to have disappeared off the face of the planet earth, or—a much more reasonable notion—been left behind. He hesitated a moment before starting to retrace his steps, wondering if it was really worth it to go looking for the boy. He was just a human after all, just another human… but Ivan really didn't want to be stuck thinking about the boy—freezing, alone, dying, as he himself had been many times before—while he tried to go to sleep. It wasn't hard to find the Canadian, an unmoving bundle of darkness in the pure snow. With a soft frown, Russia crouched down beside him.

His flawless skin was nearly colorless and his lips and eyelids—he had quite long eyelashes under the crust of frost—had a pale, bluish blush. Tendrils of honey golden hair lay across his brow. He really was quite a pretty boy, with a stubborn jaw, soft, high cheekbones, high, proud brows and a straight, noble nose.

Ivan lifted him up into his arms, propping him on one upraised knee, and tugged a glove off with his teeth to reach for a pulse beneath his chin. His frown deepened briefly as no movement met his fingertips, was he dead? He adjusted his touch slightly, probing with cold fingertips, searching… nothing. He felt once again, on the other side, still no pulse. He was definitely dead. Nonetheless, Ivan felt again, feeling strangely guilty that the boy had died when he had said he would help him. Ivan may not have liked many people, but he kept his promises, and he had the oddest feeling that one had been broken. Then a few moments later, as he sighed heavily in disappointment—fingers still pressed lightly to Matthew's cold skin—movement fluttered under his fingers.

He startled, blinking in bewilderment. Alive? It seemed almost impossible, but there it was, faint and erratic, like that of a frightened bird before it leveled out. But he had been- the only way he could be back was if he was-… if he was a country? Ivan's brow furrowed—not quite a frown, but certainly a troubled look—and stared hard at the young man.

Not dead then, and a country to…

He wasn't familiar. Russia couldn't remember having seen him before now, not at all. He ran through a mental list of countries from the world summit, not until after he had run through the list several times without success did he finally remember America's brother, Canada. Now that he looked closer there were many similarities between them, but not enough to make them indistinguishable from one another. Still… the resemblance was startling. Was it possible they were twins?

What was Canada, brother of America, —for now that he thought about it; it was blindingly obvious who he was—doing in Mother Russia?

For some reason not one thought of what he could do _to_ him passed through Ivan's mind as he pondered _what_ he was going to do with him. It had been so long since Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia had lived with him—he couldn't include Katyusha or Nataliya. For, no matter how much the latter might have wished otherwise, they were his sisters and he had never treated them the same as any of the others. The things he had done, and could do, with someone who couldn't die from the abuse were forgotten, overridden by a strange sense of righteousness at the thought of his sisters.

He withdrew, and as he did his hand brushed Matthew's shirt and stopped short. What had he done to turn his clothing to ice? He remembered suddenly how close he had been to the ocean when Ivan had found him, and winced. Had he been in the ocean? At this time of year? He must have been in agony from the cold! Ivan shook his head, supporting Matthew's back and unzipped the boy's hoodie. Not much good against a winter's day in Russia. He pulled that, and the long sleeved shirt beneath it, off of his body, baring a milky white, toned chest marred by several scars—knife, bullet, shrapnel, he could see scars from all of these and more.

Ivan paid them only a moments notice before beginning to unlace the Canadian's boots, pulling them off and unbuttoning the buttons on his pants. He tanked these off as well; revealing a pair of close fitting, partially dry leggings, which he left on the young man's wiry frame. He straightened up and began to deftly unbutton his own, long, beige greatcoat. He gathered Matthew into the warm space, holding him in place firmly and buttoning the jacket to the neck, closing the Canadian inside to keep the snow off and the warmth in. A slight shudder ran through him. He could feel the shivering cold of the younger nation's frame through his shirt. He was _freezing._ Slowly, slowly, his trembling ceased, and the cold pressure of his body turned to heat.

Russia smiled, feeling very satisfied and charitable. It felt surprisingly good to help someone instead of beating them senseless—though that had proved satisfying as well. It felt almost… warm. He stood, —hitching the Canadian higher under his coat— turned his back on the path and continued on towards home, stepping in the deep furrow his passing had created before.

Behind him Matthew's frozen clothing lay in the softly falling storm of feathery flakes, already covered in a fine, lacey powdering of pure white powder.

Soon they would be gone from sight, enveloped in deadly cold.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**I sincerely apologize for the horrible quality that this story was in. I am rewriting it! Because, quite honestly, I found myself gagging while reading over the old version. Blegh! What was I thinking making Matthew so girly? He's a man, Damn it! *****Fumes* Please forgive me!**

***grovels***

**Je suis d****é****sol****é****! D****é****sol****é****! **

**-Sai**


	3. lucky

**Yeah, yeah, yeah! Here's the repost of chapter three~! Not much change~!**

Matthew woke aware of a steady pounding under his ear, loud, persistent and determinedly even. He moaned a little, delirious, and unaware of his surroundings, only of the warmth, the dark and the comforting presence of that beat. That seemed to call quietly:

_I'm here… I'm here… I'm here… _

He shifted, seeking to press as close as he could to that warm presence. And fell into a sleep born if exhaustion.

::::

_They were all gone, Francis, Arthur, Alfred…all of them were gone. All that was left was the darkness, the silence, the loneliness. Far worse than being forgotten and unnoticed. This solitude hurt too much, they were not dead, but they had left him, he was alone. No one cared, he was finally remembered, but they didn't want him. He could already feel the shadows converging to feast on his bones, and this time he would not return…_

Something silky was pressed to Matthew's cheek when next he woke; he was hot, though not uncomfortably so. Groaning, he turned over and sat up, instantly regretting the motion. It had shed layers of down comforter, leaving skin that had previously been covered and warm exposed to frigidly cold air.

His head buzzed like a nest of angry hornets for several moments as waves of dizzy vertigo and confusion washed over him in waves. _Where am I? _He wondered briefly before it all came rushing back, along with the dreams of the night before. A single tear trickled down his cheek silently.

Matthew wiped the trail of the tear away, obliterating all trace of its existence.

The wooden floor was wickedly cold on his feet as he swung his legs out of the bed, making him hiss in discomfort and pull the blankets up around his bare shoulders. There were a pair of blue velour slippers on the floor and as Matthew reached for them eagerly he noticed that someone had placed a stack of clothing on the foot of the bed. He slid towards it, pulling his feet back onto the bed—worming them back under the covers in an attempt to regain a bit of the lost warmth— taking the slippers with him.

After a brief inspection Matthew began to don them. Light indigo Flannel pajamas that fit strangely well, and a black velvet smoking jacket. He put the slippers on, sliding his feet back out of the bed, and stood uncertainly, tying the sash of the smoking jacket around his waist.

He headed for the door; it opened to a dark, subtly warmer hallway. Matthew looked in both directions, and seeing light at one end, slid out of the room and began to make his way hesitantly towards it.

"…You'll never know dear, how much I love you…. please don't take my sunshine away…I'll always love you…" the song continued quietly until Matthew stepped into the doorway from which the light came. Then it stopped with a jerk "кто-нибудь там?" Matthew didn't understand the words, but the tone said it all. He stepped into a wine colored living room.

"I-I'm sorry…" he said, timidly, afraid that Russia would be angry over the intrusion. Said country was sprawled on a couch upholstered in rich burgundy velvet, with a half empty vodka bottle in one hand, a dried sunflower pressed to his chest in the other, and a creepy expression on his face, though it was hard to tell in which way it was creepy, a little to blank, maybe.

"Ah… its little Matvey then…would you like to join me, da. Or are you to afraid of me?" he said his tone like softly frayed and brittle parchment around the edges. Matthew took it as the kind of question you had to agree to, and moved to sit in a chair across from Ivan, feeling the warmth from the flickering fire on the hearth.

"Here. Take the edge off the cold with a little of this. Da." Ivan said, extending the half empty bottle, Matthew grasped it gingerly—he didn't usually drink much—and put it to his lips taking a frugal sip. It burned down his throat, not entirely unpleasant; he coughed twice at the fiery sensation, and tried again. This time he didn't cough.

"You like it, da?" He took another—bigger—sip and nodded; now enjoying the heat scorching through his veins.

Russia giggled inwardly as Canada's cheeks quickly turned a charming pink. My, my what a light drinker he was. Ivan had already drunk another bottle to himself, and could feel that he was only slipping up a little, what with the singing and such… speaking of which:

"You sing, нет?"

Matthew gave a little hiccup, took a no longer sparing swig, and replied.

"_O-oui_, a little, in French…"

"Sing me something, Da?"

"S-sure, let me think…" he went silent. Russia watched the other country as he thought his face finally brightening as he began to hum out a tune. Then his humming bled flawlessly into flowing French, and Russia suddenly found himself immobile, unable—and afraid—to make a sound for fear that Matthew may have stopped.

"*Des yeux qui font baisser les miens,

Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche—

Voilà le portrait sans retouche

De l'homme auquel j'appartiens.

Quand il me prend dans ses bras,

Il me parle tout bas,

Je vois la vie en rose…*"

Russia was frozen, inarticulate and burning inside as Canada continued, trailing off to a finish the song on a gentle note. This beautiful thing did not belong here, he could not stay, and Ivan refused to make him. Ivan broke the silence with a deep intake of breath and stood, ridged, staring at the sunflower still in his hand. He glared silently for barely a second, making Matthew blanch and turn pale in fear.

He took one more long breath:

"Make yourself at home, da. I will inform the council of your whereabouts…da." The last word seemed more like it was directed towards himself, as if he was fighting to convince himself that he would indeed do as he had said. With that final statement he swiftly swept out of the room, leaving Matthew frozen, like a mouse under the gaze of an owl that just might spot it and swoop down to put an end to its luck.

**Here's where the chapter order become hell in a hand basket! .**

**Matthew is falling off a cliff. A review will help Ivan get there in time to catch him… **

**Let him fall and Russia will claim your vital regions. NOT in a good way either.**

**-Sai**


	4. Luckless

**This chapter's great! Perfect timing at its best! ^.^**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

*Briiiingggg….briiiiiingggg….briii-* the ringing of the telephone was cut off as Alfred jerked it off the hook agitatedly, having just been forced to put down his hamburger, though he refused to pause his videogame. He propped the phone on one shoulder as his fingers flew over the controls, sending an ear shattering blast of machinegun fire at the animated enemy.

"Alfred speaking, who's this?"

"_Bonjour, Mon Cher garçon, this is Francis."_ Another roar of gunfire ripped from the speakers on his TV.

"Hullo, whatcha need?"

"_Mon dieu! Turn the volume down, I can hear it all the way in Paris!" _

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now what do you need from your hero?" Alfred replied off handishly, turning the volume down a notch, but just one.

"_Mattie died…"_

"Who?"

"_Little Mattie."_

"Died you say?"

"_Oui. Multiple times."_

"Are you sure? I would have felt that."

"_Oui, I'm positive. He was supposed to visit me the day before yesterday, but he hasn't arrived yet…"_

He paused his game, sitting up strait from his slouched position, listening to Frances explanation. A worried frown gracing his face, an expression he would never make in public. How could he have not felt the deaths of his brother?

Barely ten minutes later he was rushing out of the door, slamming it behind him just as the phone started ringing again. When no one answered it went to answering machine:

"_*Hello, Alfred this is the minister of foreign affairs, Russia just called in to inform us that Canada is with him. So please don't do anything rash. Goodbye. *"_

A few moments later the answering machine beeped, speaking in its robotic voice, "_number not recognized, junk mail filter running…message deleted… *beep*"_

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**It's so like America not have the minister of foreign affairs on his caller ID. Lol as I said, perfect timing, eh?**

**Translation notes:**

**Bonjour, Mon Cher garcon—hello, my dear boy**

**Mon dieu! – My god!**

**Oui—yes **

**Thanks for reading!**

**Review if you've got time!**

**- Sai**


	5. silent

**Yay! I like this chapter, by the way, the reason I write and post so fast is so I can get a good foundation down. Wouldn't want to forget any of the good stuff eh? Not to mention that I have a problem where if I stop writing for even a second I end up moving on to another story… so anyways, Enjoy!**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Matthew's head twinged painfully as he emerged from a coma like state, trying to roll over. His stomach lurched as he fell, and his back screamed out protests as he hit the floor with a loud thud, moaning and gasping for breath.

"Gah, damn it all…" he wheezed, as his lungs relearned the chemistry of taking in and expelling air. He took in his surroundings, why had he been sleeping on the couch? The empty vodka bottle caught his gaze and he groaned as the hangover wrapped its clutches around his skull.

"Gah!_ Damn_ it all!" he repeated a bit louder. "Mon deiu, I swear, I am _never_ drinking again…" he couldn't believe he had drank at all, it was the worst thing he could have done to his body while it was recovering from several deaths in a row.

Matthew crawled to his feet messaged his lower spine gingerly, and stumbled off in search of the kitchen, or the bathroom, _anywhere_ he could get some water.

Ivan didn't seem as bad as all the other nations thought, a little creepy, and very hard to read, but so far he had not been violent, and had not tried to force him into… anything. He seemed a courteous host, a bit reclusive sure, but still, a courteous- nay perhaps even a kind host. For the way Ivan kept to himself mostly was a bit of a comfort considering the things Matthew had been told about him, and no doubt Ivan knew what had been told-.

Matthew found a bathroom, and his thoughts were stunned into silence.

"Mon dieu…" he muttered to himself. Gazing wide-eyed around the room, for indeed it was a _room_. Not a huge one, but a sizable space none the less. Black marble, silver fixtures, and—shockingly—candles, in other words, the very image of luxury.

The tempting sight of a huge, whirlpool tub, sunk into a low platform, was enough to make Matthew aware of the itchy sensation of salty grime clinging to his skin. Aware of the fact that he hadn't bathed in over three days, those three days full of more activity than he usually got in a month. Geez, he must have stunk, maybe that was why Russia had left so sharply the evening before…

The though of water, and the aching in his head suddenly seemed trivial in the overwhelming urge to become clean. Yet the tub seemed to clean… a frosted glass sliding door in the wall caught his attention, and he pulled it open, was it? His hand searched for a light switch on the wall, and finding one, flicked it on, illuminating the small tiled space from within. Yes! A shower!

He completely forgot about closing the door to the bathroom as he turned the water on, giving the pipes a few moments too clear of cold water as he stripped, and stepped into the steaming torrent.

::::

Ivan didn't hear the sound of the shower, he was used to not having others around. It had been many years since Ukraine and the Baltics had lived with him, and none of them ever came to visit, they hated him, as they had the right to.

He slid through the door of the bathroom, taking several steps before noticing the steam in the air and the pile of clothes carelessly piled on the floor. His eyes traveled upwards, scanning the silhouette moving on the other side of the glass.

Ivan couldn't help but freeze up, involuntarily taking in the gentle curve of the back. The way slender wrists shifted as long fingers move to comb hair back from the face, the long legs moving, shifting… a storm of thoughts burned fiercely through his mind, reminding him of other times, when he had caught Lithuania, or Latvia in that shower, what he had done to them… the things he could do…

With that though he bolted from the room, as he had the night before, fleeing from the temptation. He closed the door silently behind him in self-defense against the sound of water rushing over skin.

And rushed a ways down the hall until he couldn't hear it anymore. He leaned heavily against the wall, sliding down and resting his head exhaustedly on his knees.

He couldn't do it, he had to keep the other side at bay, he had promised Ukraine that he would on the day she left. But it had been so long… and it was so hard when confronted by an image like…

Ivan moaned quietly, forcing the fresh memory from his mind. Digging his long fingers into his silver hair, pulling savagely hoping the pain would distract his mind. Finally resorting to ferociously attacking the flesh of his own wrist with his teeth, leaving bloody wounds where his teeth pierced through.

No, he would not think of that, he rebutted himself. He would not loose control, and he would not break his promise.

::::

Matthew emerged in a cloud of steam, sighing in appreciation. The aching, the painfully tense muscles, and his hangover were gone, but best of all, he felt _clean._

He slid the borrowed clothes back on, not bothering to dry his hair, gulped a little water from the tap and returned to the hallway.

Freezing with his hand on the doorframe as a sound registered on him. Was that someone crying? Matthew turned around and stepped tentatively towards it, into unknown territory.

It was dim, but slowly a form emerged from the darkness. The smell of blood snaked its way through his senses.

Matthew approached slowly, quietly— the smell made him anxious—and he stopped a few feet off, recognizing the silver hair. It was Ivan.

"I-Ivan? Are you alright?" his voice was worried, but gentle, and it made Ivan flinch away from him. He kolled quietly under his breath, giving an aura of danger, wanting Matthew to go, run away, and leave him alone.

In stead Matthew took another step forward, "Ivan?" the Russian cursed him, why wouldn't he leave? Couldn't he feel the danger? He intensified his aura, kolling rising in volume.

Yet another step, why was he ignoring the warnings? And then, suddenly, a gentle hand was on Ivan's shoulder, and before either of them knew what had happened, Matthew was pinned against the wall. Matthew's breath hitched as Ivan's fingers slowly tightened around his throat, constricting.

"I-Ivan p-please let go." He choked out, coughing as the grip intensified.

Ivan didn't pay attention, it had been to long since he had released his other half, the relief was great, just from the simple tightening of his grip. It felt so~ _good_. He smiled slowly, a look of pure blind cruelty, and Matthew's heart skipped a beat in fear. Matthew's final, breathless attempt broke through, and his cold smile faltered a bit.

It wasn't the meaning that got through to him; it was the way the words were breathe, even as Matthew's lungs were viciously deprived of oxygen. Even as his eye fluttered closed and his eyelashes brushed his flushed cheeks.

"…Sil te plait… n'avez pas…." (Please…don't…) memories of that same voice singing sliced through his insanity like a diamond edged knife. His snake-like grip released abruptly—sending Matthew sliding to the floor bonelessly. Ivan's smile went extinct as he stared silently Matthew's slumped and motionless form.

The realization came like a flash of lightening.

He had done this, and now he was to pay the price… Matthew would hate him now. Just look at what he had done; the prints of each of his fingers showed in clearly, standing in stark pale relief against his already snowy pale skin.

For a long moment Ivan simply stood there, backed against the wall, as breath returned to the body across from him. Finally he couldn't bring himself to stay any longer—now sure that Matthew was still alive—and fled up the stairs, leaving the unconscious blond to tremble, curled in a ball against the wall.

He fled to save himself from the anger and fear he knew would come, and to save Matthew from himself. From who he would become in the face of his betrayal. He had broken his promise.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Oh no, now look what happened, this wasn't part of the plan… O~O ( weird face) so sad… Anyways, I thought it was about time for a sprinkle of sexual tension, plus… I wanted a weird, awkward shower scene [B} ( other weird face…)**

**Anyways hope you liked it! Sorry for the disappointment of not turning it into a STEAMY shower scene ;)**

**Translation notes:**

"**Mon dieu"—my god (yet again…)**

"…**S'il te plait... Arrête… "—Please…stop…**

**Please review if you have time!**

**-Sai **


	6. Loud

**Yay! Only a few more chapters left! Thanks for keeping with me, this was my first story and I was a bit nervous… not anymore. Thanks for the great reviews everyone!**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Matthew couldn't speak, his throat still hurt quite a bit and he felt the need for cool air, maybe it would relieve the ache a bit. He headed for the front door, pulling down a jacket off the hook—the same colors as Ivan's—and wrapping an extra scarf, the color of fresh blood or perhaps one of Frances Roses, around his neck.

Russia heard the door click open and then close and went to it, looking out just in time to see a short figure walking away into the snow. Was that… Ukraine? It was her scarf, her jacket, hair that looked to be the same color as hers… perhaps she had returned to get them. He searched franticly for his jacket, realizing that it was still in his room and rushed to get it.

Matthew coughed a bit as the cold air hit his abused lungs, but he had been right, it did help. He wandered aimlessly through leafless trees, reaching towards the gray sky like skeletal, clawing hands. He picked up a stick, drawing pictures in the snow for a little while. He sighed, coughing once again—pulling the scarf higher up around his mouth—and continued his wandering.

Russia rushed from the house and followed the footprints through the snow, hoping to catch up with her. It had to be her! It had to! Maybe she had forgiven him! Maybe he wasn't alone anymore!

:::::

Alfred had gathered wind of a murder in Russia. And at the scene the investigators had found clothes, covered in Ivan Braginski's fingerprints and containing Matthew's wallet.

Ivan had killed Mattie. Who knew what he was doing with his shy, sweet little brother now?

So, Alfred was staking out Russia's house, he had been for several days. The figure slipping out the front door signaled the beginning. "Operation Anti-Russ—err Operation Rescue the Princess in progress" he mumbled to himself, and brushing some snow of his shoulders. He loaded his sniper gun, following the figure through the snow from a distance, skirting along the top of a ridge, not seeing the other, taller form as it rushed out behind him.

The figure ahead of him held a long narrow cylinder in his hand—that damnable water pipe Russia always had with him—that he placed on his knees as he sat down slowly on a stump, at the top of a hill that provided a wonderful view of the white valley.

Alfred crouched behind a log, steadying the barrel of his rifle on it, glaring down the scope at the hunched shoulders of the form below him. Were they perhaps a little to slender, a little two short, their hair a little to long and gold…? If it was America didn't notice in the heat of his anger. His finger hovered over the trigger as he made slight adjustments in his aim.

A figure raced to the edge of the trees, pausing indecisively just as his finger pulled the trigger. Alfred's eyes raced between the two. The man in the trees was unmistakably Russia. But if Russia was there than who was…

"Matthew!" he screamed dropping the gun and leaping over the log as the figure slumped to the ground with a burst of red.

::::

The spray of blood against the snow sent Russia shooting forward faster than the bullet that had just hit.

_Natalya! No not-_

"Matthew!" Russia paid no heed to the cry, barely even hearing it as he rushed to the fallen figures side without delay, scooping them into his arms.

"Let him GO you _Damn_ _COMMIE!"_

America shrieked in rage.

"Нет! не в этот раз!" the Russian replied fully aware that the person in his arms was not in fact his sister. This boy had a voice that had brought his heart back, just a little. And he had not blatantly showed his fear; he had tried to understand him when he had been in pain. And then _he_ had _hurt_ him.

America tried to pry his brother from the Russian's grasp, having little success.

"Oh, little Matvey…I am sorry…" the tall Russian whispered, to quiet for the American to hear, stroking a gloved hand slowly over Matthew's hair waiting for him to open his gray, sky eyes.

Alfred gave a bellow of anger, swinging the guns—it hung where he had dropped it, fastened to his waist—heavy barrel in a wide arch with all his strength, slamming it fiercely against the Russians temple, sending him sprawling and knocking him unconscious. Yet even immobilized he refused to let up his grip on Matthew's body.

America gave up after vigorous prying, choosing instead watch over his brother as the slow healing process began.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Russia… I didn't know you had it in you to be so sweet! And **_**you, **_**yes **_**YOU**_** Alfred! How COULD you! Gack, its all my fault… I was the writer after all…. Damnit that's annoying, now I have no one to blame!**

**Anyways…(changing subject)**

**Translation notes!**

"**Нет! не в этот раз!****"—No! not this time!**

**Thank you! **

**Please review if you have time!**

**-Sai**


	7. Rage

**There's only a few chapters left, it was a cute little story for me to start with I think, getting used to the fact that others are reading it… thank you for all the great feedback! It was very helpful and uplifting! It was nice to get other peoples opinions (you know… besides your friends and parents who are like, required to praise you…) anyways… thank you all!**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Matthew woke slowly, the pain aching through his chest as a torturously sluggish pace. He moaned a bit and opened his eyes, finding himself immediately face to face with a knocked out Alfred.

"Alfred?" Matthew sat up, his head spinning and his chest aching unpleasantly, "wow…déjà vu…" he muttered to himself rubbing a hand over his eyes. He pressed a hand to Alfred's forehead and found it at a healthy heat. He was okay then, a glance around the room revealed Ivan's hunched form against a wall.

Matthew stood shakily, one hand going to his chest as a sharp pain twined there, and made his way over to Ivan, placing a hand on his shoulder. Ivan flinched and tensed.

"Soyez calme, son seulement je…" Ivan slumped, but was still tense at the touch on his shoulder. Matthew crouched down, leaning against the wall next to him and spoke quietly.

"Ivan, what's the matter?"

"I know who you are, stop pretending you do not know who I am." He mumbled sharply, his voice as biting as a blade.

"You're Russia. Ivan, I know who you are." Ivan gave a bitterly rueful chuckle before answering harshly.

"Then why are you still here? You are free to go, you did not need to run away… I would not keep you… da." Matthew stared at him for a long moment—there was that self-convincing tone again—before laughing loudly, catching himself and smothering it as Alfred stirred on the bed.

"You thought I was running away? Why would I do that?" Ivan's head snapped upward, his expression full of incredulity at the statement.

"You are kidding me, da?"

"No. Not at all."

Russia abruptly broke down and began to weep, the tears pouring down his face like drops of dew as he buried his face deeply in his arms.

"B-but I almost killed you, a-and I beat up your brother, and I planned to do so many horrid things to you in my mind…and... And… I'm s-so sorry…" he hiccupped once, and a wave off feeling washed through Matthew. He had never expected to ever see the great Russia weep, or smile, or apologize for something that had seemingly caused him more harm than it had anyone else. The grief shaking his form made him seem smaller, but no less dangerous, there was tenseness in his shoulders, a certain gauging curl to his fingers that suggested violence.

Then Matthew did something not even he truly expected, he leaned forward and pulled Ivan's strong form into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"Je vous pardonne…you are forgiven."

::::

The sound of a burst of loud laughter woke Alfred from his slumber, and remembering what had happened, how he had fallen asleep while watching Mattie and Russia, how he had woken up to Russia's face, how they had fought, and how Russia, that Commie scoundrel, had snuck up behind him and hit him over the head while he was down.

Instinctively he froze, blanking out as he gauged where he most likely was— Russia's house—and to gauge the danger of the situation. All caution flew out the window when he heard the sound of choked sobbing; something was said in another language, followed by something to quiet to hear in English.

Matthew was crying! He sprang out of the bed reaching for, and surprisingly finding a gun at his belt.

Leaning against the wall was …Mattie? Why was Matthew hugging that commie bastard? He must have done something unmentionable to him, blackmailed him or _worse_! Without hesitation Alfred grabbed Matthew by the arm and dragged him away, flinging him to the side and onto the bed. He cocked his pistol and aimed directly at Russia's forehead.

"A-Alfred? S-stop!" Matthew's voice cried out.

"Why should I? This communist _Russky_ kidnapped you, the Bastard! Why should I stop, I'm a hero! Hero's never give up!"

"Y-you've got it all wrong Alfred! P-please at least wait to get the facts strait! _Please!"_ Alfred did not lower his gun but he gave a slight nod, glaring fiercely at the livid looking Russia who had stood slowly, glaring red hot daggers strait back at America.

"H-he- h-he… GOD DAMN IT ALFRED PUT THE FUCKING GUN DOWN! I CANT FUCKING TALK WITH YOU POINTING IT IN HIS FUCKING FACE, SHIT!" even though Alfred didn't actually mean to listen to the demand the shock of hearing his sweet little brother talk like that made him unable to do anything but stare in shock right along with Ivan.

Matthew slapped a hand over his mouth his own expression just as surprised and horrified as the other two's.

"M-Matthew…?" Alfred said tentatively the gun hanging by his side.

"I-I'm s-sorry… will you listen now?"

Alfred nodded once, his sense returning just enough to make him glare at Ivan.

"he didn't kidnap me, Alfred. He _saved_ me, so if you kill him you wont be a hero anymore, just-j-just another mindless _bigot._ _" _The last word held a vehemence that made Alfred flinch a bit, then he turned on Ivan, his expression fuming furiously, his eyes nearly glowing red with anger.

"This is YOUR FAULT! What the HELL did you do to him you FUCKING COMMIE!" once again his trigger happy nature showed as he pressed the cold steel muzzle of his gun forcefully against the forehead of a non-resistant Russia, pushing his silver hair away from his brow. This time he didn't plan to wait for doubts to take over; his finger flew towards the trigger.

_**BANG!**_

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**I'm sure you all hate me for my sudden use of cliffhangers… Sorry couldn't help it… and the next chapter doesn't come until after winter break, or maybe sometime during… you have a right to rant on the comments if you like! ^,^ Anyhow!**

**Happy holidays! Whatever they may be!**

**And now…(drum-roll please!)…**

**Translation notes!**

"**Soyez calme, son seulement je…"****—be calm, it is only me…**

**Je vous pardonne—I forgive you**

**Thanks for reading! Please review and vent on stupid cliffhangers!**

**-Sai**


	8. Calm

**I'm sure that most people have noticed that I strayed a bit drastically from Russia's usual attitude. Honestly I wasn't expecting it, but I like the effect quite a bit…**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**BANG!**

Matthew gave a small cry staggering and pressed his arm across his stomach, hand cupping his hip as he winced painfully. Red blood seeped from under his hand, red blossomed on his shirt like the bloodiest rose, the pure color dripping onto his pants.

Alfred stared silently, eyes wide with shock as Matthew sunk down, one hand pressed against the wall next to Ivan's shoulder, almost protective. "M-Matthew?" Alfred flinched back, the silent glare of his brothers steel blue eyes more shocking than his previous violent language.

"Get. Out."

"B-but-"

"But nothing! I want you out! Ivan-!" the taller man immediately shifted as if in preparation to take action to get rid of this annoyance, his eyes as blank and hard as amethyst crystal, his fists clenched and an aura of anger rolling off of him in waves.

"_Kolkolkolkolkol…"_ Without further argument Alfred backed down, slinking out of the room with an ashamed look over his shoulder as he left.

Matthew's anger vanished, leaving him shaking and spent from the effort of keeping it up for so long.

"I-Ivan…" there was no response from man, shaking and still exuding a thick wall of anger, pure rage that could be felt boring into Matthew's skin like tiny ice shards.

"I-Ivan… veuillez être calme mon ami, votre colère me blesse." He relaxed and sighed deeply, turning, and abruptly scooping Matthew into his arms.

"Wha-!" Matthew yelped at the sudden movement, wincing lightly as Ivan's hand brushed along his hip, coming away stained red. He clung to Ivan's neck as he was carried bridal style out the door after Alfred who stood watching from the end of the hall, scowling worriedly, but was held back effectively by a single look from Ivan's violet eyes.

There he stayed, fuming silently as his little brother was carried away down the hall.

::::

Matthew blushed, gulping lightly as he was cradled in Ivan's arms.

"W-what… I-Ivan, what are you doing?"

"Do not worry." He mumbled softly, as if embarrassed by what he was doing. "The floor is cold… and you are bleeding…and I will just…carry you. Da." Matthew turned bright red and went silent, his grip around Ivan's neck loosening a bit.

"I- I can walk…"

"No." Ivan's voice was firm and clearer than before as his destination became clear.

He sat Matthew gently on the edge of the huge whirlpool tub and began to turn knobs in the shower, turning a bit red as he remembered Matthew's nude form on the other side of this glass. Steam immediately began to fog up the mirrors. Moving his attention to Matthew he reached out, and without asking began to undo the buttons on his bloodied shirt. Matthew didn't object much though he turned a bright fire engine red.

Ivan turned away and moved a bit towards the door as soon as the shirt was off and he could see that the wound was not in a vital area.

Without thinking about the implication of the action Matthew reached out and caught the end of Ivan's scarf.

"W-wait… w-where are you going?" he asked surprising himself but unable to stop himself.

Ivan looked back at him, surprised and red-faced,

"I was going to..." he gave a vague gesture at the door.

Matthew was unsure of what was going on, and most of all about where this boldness had come from, but he knew one thing. He didn't want Ivan to leave.

"P-please… don't leave me…"

Ivan stared down at him, surprised by the word choice; Matthew couldn't know what those words meant to him. How could he deny him when he had just voiced his own greatest fear? He gave a hesitantly firm nod and began to unbutton his own shirt, even taking his scarf off after a moment's hesitation.

Matthew stood shakily and winced, grimacing and staggering, catching himself on Ivan's arm.

"What is wrong?"

"T-the bullet… " Matthew groaned, he had felt this before, it was still there. Ivan frowned and tugged Matthew into the shower, pulling the door closed behind them and pressing him against the wall.

Without warning he dropped to his knees in front of Matthew and pressed his lips firmly to his skin, tugging the waist of his pants out of the way.

"H-hey! W-what?" Matthew exclaimed indignantly surprised by the sudden—and not entirely descent, though not _necessarily_ unwanted either—action. Ivan pulled away, looking up at him with dark eyes, the corner of his mouth stained red with blood. _H-had he been _sucking_ on his wound?_

"Hold still, this will hurt." Ivan said blankly, his eyes carefully blank and emotionless, replacing his lips. Suddenly pain seared up Matthew's spine, making his back arch as he screamed out an agonized shriek of pain.

He could feel the torturous progress of the mass moving through his flesh, slowly making its way to the surface. Then with a last whimper inducing blossoming stab of torment, it ended and Ivan pulled away, spitting a lump of metal to the side with a clink. Matthew gasped for breath, flinching a little as Ivan's forehead fell against his stomach.

"I am sorry for that Matvey…" Ivan sighed sadly, as the warm water poured down on them, dousing their hair. Matthew's skin sealed shut, now free of the obstruction, and the aching faded.

For what seemed like the hundredth time Matthew sunk down in front of Ivan, shivering as he buried a hand in his hair, pulling him in close once again.

Ivan buried his face in Matthew's bare shoulder, —he smelled like rosehips—running his fingers through Matthew's hair—god it was soft, soft as silk. His hands were spread wide on his shoulders, warm.

Matthew tilted his head into the torrent, closing his eyes, feeling Ivan's breath on his shoulder. Every touch seared his skin…he wanted more. He was supposed to be afraid of this man…but…

_Why wasn't he afraid of him?_

_Why had he sung him a love song when he should have been trying to escape?_

_Why was he willing—for indeed he was—to forgive anything this man did?_

_Why had he thrown himself in front of a __**bullet**__ for him?_

_These were the actions of someone from a cheesy American film. The actions of someone stupidly in love...love… he couldn't be… could he?_

His eyes flew open and he gasped quietly in Ivan's ear:

"I-I-Iv-Ivan, I-I-I-…" Ivan pulled away, looking questioningly into Matthews face afraid that maybe he had gone to far. He had never heard him stutter this bad since he had come here, even when he had been scared witless…

Matthew took a long deep breath, stealing himself before saying it:

"Je t'aime Ivan."

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Sigh….. (Blushes like a demented cherry) was that another cliffhanger courtesy of little old moi? Oh yes it was~ isn't it cute~? (Tickles lil' cliffy under chin) anywho, rant all you like, I welcome the input! **,

**Translation notes:**

**Veuillez être calme mon ami, votre colère me blesse. —Please be calm, my friend, your anger is hurting me.**

**Je t'aime Ivan—I love you Ivan.**

**Thankee very much! Please review!**


	9. Past

Ivan's eyes widened hugely, and he stood quickly, followed by Matthew. He didn't know much French, but he had heard France say this phrase to England during world meetings enough times to know what it meant.

He couldn't possibly mean it, though Matthew's eyes told him otherwise as they stared up at him with hopeful nervousness. How could he possibly love him after all he had done, hadn't he heard about it all? He must have what with the way countries gossip; it was nearly impossible that he hadn't. The things he had done to Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia, how he had hurt them… he must have heard about it all, maybe he meant something else. Or maybe he had misheard him.

"E-excuse me?" Matthew had little trouble saying it again, though his face was far redder than before…

"I love you Ivan. I-I love you…so~ much." He looked down, heavy emphasis on how much he loved Ivan.

Ivan stared for a moment longer, there was no mistaking the meaning of the words now. 'Why' was still a question…but did it really matter? No, —he decided—it did not. He smiled slightly, amazed at the feeling, he had never imagined that anyone besides overly zealous Belarus would ever say those words to him.

Matthew sat silently, worrying, as the silence grew longer. _Did he not feel the same? Was it a mistake?_ But then a hand caressed his cheek gently, he looked hopefully up, and suddenly he found his lips occupied with Ivan's as he stole a long, slow kiss from Matthew. Who blinked twice in surprise, and let his eyes flutter gently closed.

He leaned into it as Ivan's arms snaked around his waist and cinched him in as close as he could get. Finally they were forced to pull apart, breathing heavily.

"Thank you for telling me. я люблю тебя слишком, мое сердце."

Matthew gasped; he had heard this enough to know what it meant as well, just as Ivan had known the words he had said. His body was warm as he wrapped his arms around Ivan's neck pulling him down into another long kiss. Suddenly aware of everywhere their bare skin was touching, of how Ivan's lips tasted lightly of alcohol as if he had taken a shot an hour or two ago, just slightly sweet.

"Mmn…" Matthew moaned, loosing control as the kiss deepened. He parted his lips willingly when Ivan's tongue stroked gently at his lips, asking for entry.

"_M-Mr. Russia? ...Have you been drinking?" the widening of pale blue eyes and the gasp of shock and horror as he grasped thin trembling wrists. "Please…no…"_

Ivan pulled away abruptly, and Matthew stared questioningly at him. His face growing concerned at the blank expression in Ivan's eyes.

"Ivan?"

"_P-please, no, Mr. Russia! _Please!_" The plea was ignored as he dragged the boy down the hall, through the door at the end off the hall. The clinking of metal as he shackled him to the wall roughly._

Matthew placed a hand gently on the side of Ivan's face; looking deep into his eyes, concern plain.

"I-Ivan? Are you alright?"

_The blood dripped on the floor, pure red and yet the lash rose and fell on the limp forms shredded shoulders, to weak to make a sound anymore. He took a long gulp from a bottle, stopping the merciless movement of his arm to do so. He eyed the boy's naked form then the bottle, and grinned happily, pouring the remainder of the contents over the tattered flesh._

_Their back arched throwing back waves of blond hair, as they let out an agonized shriek, the alcohol burning deeply into their wounds._

"Ivan? Ivan!" one of Ivan's hands came up at the touch on his cheek, grasping Matthew's wrist, hard. Matthew flinched slightly, hissing as Ivan's fingers dug into his flesh.

_He pressed the bloodied boy down, bending him over a table, holding his hands behind his back with one hand. The boys choked sobs could be heard clearly as he forced himself insi-_

Matthew pressed his lips firmly against Ivan's "je t'aime, you imbecile_, _now wake up damn it!" Ivan's eyes cleared and he blinked, his expression darkening dangerously as he released Matthew's already bruising wrist. He pushed Matthew out of the shower, snatching a bathrobe off of a hook and thrusting it into Matthew's arms forcefully.

"Get out of my house. Get your brother and go, don't run, just…go." Matthew started to protest, hurt by the sudden gruffness.

"_GO!_" Ivan snarled, giving Matthew a shove towards the door. Matthew flinched, his heart giving a stab at the ferocity in the words, but he obeyed. There must be good reason for this… he did not run; instead he walked away, slipping the robe over his shoulders as he went. What had he done wrong? He should not have told him how he felt. But it was too late to take it back now, and yet he was glad. Matthew did not want to take it back, even if it hurt him and scarred him, he would not regret it.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Ugh…I hate writing violence… Unless of course it has something to do with the plot…sadly this chapters cruelty was needed…sigh… in case people didn't get it the boy from the flashbacks was Lithuania, little Liet.**

**I did enjoy this chapter quite a bit, strangely enough. It is turning out to be a longer story than I had anticipated… and more fluffy in a weird depressing way… T.T…**

**How are you all liking it so far? ^,^"**

**Translation notes:**

**я люблю тебя слишком, мое сердце. —I love you too, my heart. (Awww… isn't that sweet?)**

**Je t'aime—I love you (duh.)**

**Please review! They are helpful!**

**-Sai**


	10. future

**Hello peoples! Just wanted to let you know that this chapter takes place after a time jump of several weeks. Matthew is now staying with Francis (France) and Arthur (Britain) as he had been planning in the start of the story. Also, since I had so much drama in the last few chapters, I am giving people (and myself) a little bit of relaxing time with a bit of "normal" day-to-day activity… also thank you to Wolfspeaker01 for very kindly pointing out that in Russia's flashback Lithuania's hair should be brown not blonde. Thank you, I stand humbly corrected. *Bow***

**Enjoy!**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Arthur and Francis peeked around the edge of Matthew's bedroom door. The room was dark, and the only sign that someone was inside was the slight movement of breathing from the lump under the covers of the bed.

"Blimey! Has he spoken? Has he eaten? Has he bloody _moved?" _

"Aucune idée" Francis replied, shrugging one shoulder and looking sadly at the lump in the center of the bed. Arthur slapped his forehead, muttering under his breath.

"Bleeding Frog, brainless bonce…" he slammed the door fully open and stormed up to the bed, yanking the blankets off the bed.

"Get up you git! Enough of this bleeding moping!" Matthew groaned, and slowly sat up. "M' not moping…"

Arthur propped his hands on his hips, and replied with scorn "oh ho ho, you're not moping? Then what do you call sitting in your room for weeks on end without eating, speaking or moving? Bleeding hell, if that's not moping I don't know what is!" he stomped over to the windows and jerked the curtains open, allowing streams of blinding afternoon light. Matthew pulled back, wincing. "The light, it burns us!" he hissed theatrically, Arthur snorted

"Oh bloody-! Stop being so overly dramatic, get your arse out of bed, take a shower, eat something and get ready to go out! We've had enough of this infernally moronic behavior!" when Matthew didn't make a move to get out of bed Arthur took action, shooing him off and towards the door. "You heard me! Out, out, out!"

Francis smiled as a tired and harassed looking Matthew passed him on the way to the bathroom. "G' morning Papa…" he muttered, blinking at the taller blonde man owlishly.

Matthew stepped onto the tile floor of Francis's ridiculously luxurious bathroom. And froze forced to remember and face the issue he had been avoiding all this time, remembering the last time he had been in a shower… he sighed. It seemed as if Iv- _Russia,_ had forgotten him, like most people did after a few seconds away from him.

Tears began to trail down his cheeks at the very thought and he wiped them away in frustration and turned the faucets on. Stripping slowly in the steam.

He hadn't told them all of what happened, though he had told them that Russia had been very kind during his stay, they didn't believe it at all, he knew they secretly blamed him for the bruises he had had. Which was true, but they filled in the blanks on how they had occurred as they pleased, and didn't bother to ask for the truth.

No, Ivan couldn't possibly have forgotten about him, if he had it meant he didn't truly care.

At the very least he would wait until he saw that he had been forgotten for his own eyes to give up. Until that time, as far as he was concerned, Ivan was still in love with him, and he with Ivan. This decision lifted a great weight off his shoulders.

Matthew gingerly stepped into the perfectly heated torrent. Letting his tears of relief meld with the streams of water running down his face.

::::

By the time three days had passed Matthew had recovered from his dark stage completely, no one besides Matthew himself knew why. He was now the first one up in the morning, and most days Arthur—ever the second one up—would come down to the smell of frying batter and a new flavor of pancake to try with his coffee, shortly followed by Francis, who—lured from his silk sheets by the smell of breakfast—would come down to laughter. And though no one really noticed that much, Matthew was rarely forgotten anymore.

On Friday morning, just as Matthew finished cooking breakfast, and the sound of footsteps could be heard on the stairs, the doorbell rang. He ran to get it, announcing loudly to whoever was coming downstairs that he was doing so.

"Bonjour?"

"Err… France?" the bashful looking person standing before Matthew looked confused. His crystalline spring green eyes filled with relief when Matthew next spoke.

"Hello, are you looking for France?"

"No, well yes but I came to meet Canada." Matthew blinked twice and burst out laughing. The brunette mans look of confusion grew at why he was being laughed at.

"Well, it's your lucky day then, you've already met him!"

"Eh?"

"I'm Canada, Matthew, nice to meet you…?" the man jumped, breaking from the surprised and somewhat disbelieving stare he had had fixed on Matthew.

"Oh! I'm Lithuania, please call me-." At that moment Francis decided to show himself, casually wrapping his arms around Matthew's neck, his chin propped on the top of his head.

"Oh, Bonjour Liet! I see you've met Mattie, oui? Veuillez entrer, ou soyez entré je supposent." The Frenchman winked roguishly and the visitor blushed, not understanding the French, the end of his sentence turned to a mumble. "- Toris…" Matthew did understand the French and wiggled out of Frances grasp. Muttering under his breath.

"Frog..." then raised his voice, leaving Francis looking amused. "… Please come in, Toris." Toris brightened considerably at the English and slid inside, following the other two to the kitchen, where Arthur sat, sipping at a cup of coffee and reading the paper, or trying to, but it was all in French.

"Mon cher Arthur, you really must stop using that vulgar language, Matthew is beginning to pick it up." The green eyed man looked up, his thick black eyebrows twitching downwards.

"Bout' bloody time! You deserve it you damn Dandy!" that was all it took, and words started flying. Matthew shook his head and rolled his eyes, not noticing the oddly confused stare Toris was giving him.

"Would you like something, Toris?" he shook his head lightly, eyes following Matthew as he munched happily on a rolled up pancake, as if it were a crepe. Matthew's eyebrows cinched as he looked over to see a worried, depressed look on Toris's face.

"Lets move to the living room shall we?" Toris relaxed, fleeing from the yelling gratefully.

Once they were settled down, and the door was closed, reducing the bickering to a slight muffled undertone. Matthew remembered that Toris had said he had come to meet him. But before he could ask about it Toris beat him to it.

"H-how can you be so cheerful?" he asked, looking at the floor.

"What do you mean?"

"After what Russia m-must have d-done to you!" he began to tremble slightly as he spoke, his tone turning panicked. Matthew took a long breath before answering.

"You know, the funny thing is that no one has actually _asked_ me what he did."

Toris took the hint, though his expression was full of dread for what he may hear.

"W-what _did_ he do to you?" the silence dragged on, and finally Matthew looked up, a small sad smile on his face. Toris froze, stiffening sensing that the answer was coming.

"You sure you really want to know? You don't want to just imagine?" Toris gulped, and nodded once slowly, he knew how much telling people helped.

"Nothing. He did nothing." Matthew let out gratefully; it was nice to know someone knew the truth besides rumors and assumptions. It took a moment for the words to register on Toris, when they did he couldn't believe what he had just heard.

"_Nothing?_" Matthew nodded once, smiling at the reaction.

"B-but… the bruises!" Toris exclaimed in disbelief, pointing at the bandages around his neck and wrists. Matthew lifted his hands, looking rueful.

"True, these are from him."

"Then how can you say he did nothing?"

Matthew sighed quietly, stroking the white bandage on his left wrist idly.

"Because he _didn't." _Toris shook his head in confusion "I don't get it. How did he give you _those_ if he didn't do anything?"

"He didn't do what people think, Toris. He never hurt me."

"But…"

"I didn't want to leave." Toris's green eyes widened hugely, and he looked surprised, the only words he had to the ability to say came out tiny.

"Oh my…"

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~ **

**Well, I like this chapter, very relaxing… **

**Also: Oh **_**yes**_**! Dear little Liet is here finally! YAY! YAY! YAY! (Jumps for joy)**

**Translation notes: (most is probably known)**

"**Aucune idée"—no idea **

"**Veuillez entrer****, ****ou soyez entré je supposent"—please enter, or be entered I suppose.**

**France is such a perv… tee hee**

**Anyways, thanks for reading! **

**-Sai**


	11. ignore

**This is a short chapter that watches Toris instead of Mattie. There are just a few little things he needs to know about. *,* Eheheh (sorta) **

**Enjoy!**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Toris lay awake that night, in one of the houses other rooms; in fact it was the one right next door to Matthew's. This was definitely better than the hotel he would have had to stay in if France hadn't offered that he could stay here. He sighed, how was it _possible _for Matthew to have stayed at Russia's home for that long without getting molested in some way? As far as he knew the only ones who had managed that were Russia's sisters, Belarus and Ukraine…

Shuddering, he remembered how the screams had rang through the house, the lash of the whip. How he would have to help whoever else had been spared the treatment that night to clean up the blood, and often times cum too… bandage the wounds of their friend and lay awake the rest of the night, afraid that Russia might come back.

He sighed and rolled over, banishing such thoughts from his mind, he was with Poland now, he couldn't have asked for a gentler, more supportive lover had he tried. He had been all that had kept Toris from loosing it when he was finally free from Russia. He sighed and rolled over again, restless, he wasn't used to sleeping without Poland beside him, as he let out what seemed like the thousandth deep sigh, he froze, the sigh stuck in his throat as someone yelled out. The sound echoed into his room through the wall.

How many times had Toris let out such a cry in the years during and after he was kept by Russia.

_I knew it! He lied!_ Toris slipped out of bed and quietly out into the hall, he was good at being silent, he had years of practice.

As he had thought the mutterings were coming from Matthew's room. He gave a tiny knock, and when no one answered stepped inside uninvited.

Matthew tossed and turned, the silk sheets tangled around his legs.

"…Mn…p-please don't…" he mumbled in his sleep. Toris took a step closer, automatically feeling nervous that someone may find him spying. He was truly concerned for Matthew; he _knew _what the nightmares could be like.

"…I-Ivan…Ivan…" the mumbling continued, cut off by a sob as a tear trickled down Matthew's cheek. Toris took another step; _maybe I should wake him up… _he thought to himself. Something itched at the back of his mind with the use of first names, but it was too unbelievable to pay attention to.

"…I… don't want to be forgotten…" Toris stopped, wait a minute, what was that? This didn't sound like…

"…I…I love you…" Toris blinked, taking a few stumbling steps back as the tears stopped, a smile spread over Matthew's face, and he relaxed into the mattress, hugging a pillow to his chest. Had he really heard what he thought he just did?

It was probably a mistake, someone else; it must be someone else he was mumbling about. After all, in dreams things get pretty mixed up! He could be talking about _anyone_; he _had to_ be talking about someone else!

But the words still nagged at him as he slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Feeling a little guilty for snooping, he felt like he had intruded on a secret, something he wasn't supposed to know.

It kept him up all night long.

Or maybe that was the lack of loved one between the covers with him.

How he wished Poland were here to help him sort all this out.

Love was such a wonderful thing.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**If I don't stop here this chapter will end up being very long, and all of it will be 'maybe's'! LoL**

**Well now he's got his hint! Yeahhehehea! **

**Thanks for reading!**

**-Sai**


	12. respond

**Ok, I know I have no right to say this… but im sorry! Im SORRRYY! *****Weep* I had no right to leave this for so long! But I did… I made it up if I can by posting a new meaningless chapter to fill your time.**

**X*X*X*X*X**

Ivan sat in a corner of his bedroom, curled in on himself. A near empty bottle dangled limply in a loose grasp. His heart lay a ways away, thumping loyally on where it had fallen when it had been torn from his chest and thrown across the room.

He was exhausted.

It had taken every last drop of his energy, both physical and mental, not to go after Matthew. To not murder his brother and take him all for himself then and there. To not hunt him down and drag him back too his home. He had said that he loved Matthew and yet Ivan had had too fight off the side of him that wanted to lock Matthew up and force those words from his throat over and over again, until his voice was ragged and he could no longer speak just so he could relish the way those words made his heart flutter.

Now he was in control, and he realized, he could no longer feel it anymore. It was gone. Repressed and smashed so thoroughly that only the tiniest dusting remained. Ivan didn't know how it was even possible, but it felt as if he had banished the urge to possess—killrapemurdertrap—was gone, replaced with the overwhelming need to please, to make them stop _hating _him, to have them accept him.

There was the problem at hand however. He could barely move, every muscle in his body having been clenched for so long that they felt ravaged and torn.

He could hear someone pounding on the door but he couldn't find the energy to answer. He could only open his eyes, and even that made him want to cry. Everything went silent for a long moment, then a crash and clang of metal echoed through the entire house. Ivan couldn't help but twitch.

The sound of feet and doors opening rang through the house until finally his door opened letting in streams of seemingly blinding light.

"B-big brother?" someone gasped, and cautious steps approached across the room. When he made no move. Blue skirts swished into his line of sight. And suddenly he knew who it was. A hand lifted his chin until he was looking squarely into the indigo eyes of his young Belarusian sister, Nataliya.

His heart began to race on the floorboards. Fear making his eyes widen. He waited for her to drag him off for a forced marriage while he was helpless to stop her, or something of the like. But to his confusion she did not, instead casting a look over her shoulder with a swish of long blonde hair.

"Ellie! Come help me, something is wrong with him! He is not trying to run away from me!" Ivan blinked as slightly heavier steps came at a run and suddenly he saw the one his sister had named Ellie.

Elizaveta, personification of Hungary, wearing combat boots under her skirt and with frying pan in hand. The pan disappeared to god knows where as she saw there was no danger and in no time at all she was kneeling beside him as well. Ivan forced the words harshly from his throat.

"сестра… Венгрия?" Belarus threw a glance at the other woman then turned her head a little revealing that she was wearing a pink flower pin in her hair.

"мы будем любовниками" the Russian mans eyes widened hugely.

"Ah." And with that he dropped away into a dead faint.

X*X*X*X*X

**Ok its short I know. But I'm already started on the next so…. **

**сестра… Венгрия- sister… Hungary?**

**мы будем любовниками- we are lovers…(roughly)**

**~Sai**


	13. Push

It had taken an hour of explanation to get Ivan to accept that Belarus was really with Hungary and had no intention of any violence—marriage—towards him. Or Matvey— not the marriage part obviously. Now she was trying get him to:

"Call him."

"Sister… I don't…"

"Call. Him. Brother, you can't just leave him hanging for weeks. So call him."

Ivan sighed, taking a deep breath and finally giving in despite the twisting in his gut and picked up the phone.

He had been holding off. He couldn't help but wonder if Matthew had been happy to get away and that's why he hadn't been making any attempts to contact him. The thought made a bubble of anger fizzle acidicly in his throat, making him feel sick. He forced it down hard as his sister patted him on the shoulder. He dialed France's number.

Just when he thought he might go to voicemail a click came and a stiff sounding England spoke.

"Hello, this is the United Kingdom, with whom am I speaking?"

"Privyet Arthur, this is Ivan." There was silence for a few moments and then England growled over the line.

"What in the bloody hell do you want?"

"Could I speak with Matvey?"

"No." the reply was curt and absolutely freezing. "He doesn't want to speak too you… and its MATTHEW."

Ivan felt the anger return along with a twinge of hurt at these words.

"He…does not?"

"No you dumb sod, he doesn't want anything to do with you! Now go wank off you git!"

Ivan could have sworn he heard something break on the other end as the receiver was slammed down with deafening force.

"What did he say?"

"He… wants' nothing to do with me…"

Ivan fumed. Matthew didn't want anything to do with him? He didn't want to speak to him? Screw pleasing his loves family. If this was true there was going to be hell to pay. If it was true he knew that the wall in the back of his soul would break, it was still weak. A betrayal would break it down like a flame devouring a piece of rice paper. His anger would come back and every single god forsaken person in Matthew's family would pay in blood.

X*X*X*X*X

Matthew returned from shopping mulling over the end of what sounded like a very irate phone call he had heard before he left to go shopping, it had been curious. Catching Arthur yelling at the top of his lungs that early in the morning…

"_No you dumb sod! He doesn't want anything to do with you after what you did to him! Now go wank off! If you call again I'll consider it an act of war!" the sound of the phone being slammed down made Matthew wince—he hoped it wasn't broken…—as he peeked around the corner of the kitchen door to see a fuming Englishman with one hand still on the receiver as if hoping to grind a nonexistent spider to a pulp between it and the hook._

"_Ehm… who was that?" Arthur jumped a little at the sound of his voice and spun around. _

"_Oh no one, no one. Just a sodding telemarketer."_

Matthew doubted this was actually true but at the same time… Matthew frowned curiously as he stepped inside. He was home earlier than was expected with his arm hooked around a bag of groceries. It was clear that Arthur had been lying to him… and if he was lying to him about something like that it must have something to do with him.

He was walking by the door to the living room on his way to the kitchen when someone said his name and he froze.

"… I cant believe that Russian Bastard had the guts to call after what he's done '_I vant to speak to leetle Matvey' _my ass_."_ Matthew didn't hear anything else after this. As soon as those words registered he was through the living room door, the bag of groceries slipping from his grasp and dropping to the ground with a crash. The expression on his face as Arthur and Francis stared at him was wild with desperate hope.

"Ivan called?" he gasped. "Ivan wanted to talk to me?" the expressions on the two men's faces were very different. Francis's was a look on the brink of realization and Arthur's was a look of confusion and anger. Arthur got up, looking awkward. " Yes…"

"When! This morning?"

"Why do you want to know? After what that bastard did- oh I'm-" it was to late to take it back. Matthew looked stunned. Anger welled up inside him, he was sick of this; so angry that no one had thought to _ask_. His eyes flamed, his teeth clenched and his entire body went rigid.

"_Excuse me?_ Have _any_ of you besides Toris _asked_ me what he did to me? NO! For you're information he didn't do ANYTHING to me! If you had bothered to _ASK _you would know that!" Arthur bristled.

"I find it bloody hard to believe that that git didn't do a bloody thing when there are bruises all over you bloody wrists and you came home with bullets in your body and pieces of glass stuck in your hands! He didn't do anything? BLEEDING HELL! YOU REALLY EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE THAT? What do you think I'm daft?"

"He didn't do it on purpose! He would never hurt me on purpose! He loves me!"

His fists were clenched at his sides his chest heaving and his eyes narrowed with wrath and conviction. Arthur could do nothing but stand frozen in shock at the words that had just come out of his son's mouth.

"_W-what_?" Matthew seemed to calm down a bit and he suddenly looked nervous.

"H-he loves me. A-and I l-love him…" Arthur looked at him like he was crazy, decided he was and promptly stepped forward and knocked him over the head, knocking him out easily.

"A-Arthur!" Francis sounded horrified.

"Francis, it was necessary! He's clearly been brainwashed to the point of Stockholm syndrome."

"Oui. But was it really necessary to knock Mon petite Mattie out cold?"

"We need to keep him safe! Go call Alfred and tell him Russia is coming for his brother!" He slung Matthew over his shoulder and carried him up stairs where he handcuffed him to the headboard by one wrist. Francis came in a moment later.

"Is Russia really coming?"

"Yes, he said he was coming to get Matthew. Not bloody likely."

X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X

**OK, Ch. 13 is now up, I feel like I'm actually getting somewhere! Review please~!**

**~Sai**


	14. pull

Matthew was jerked into consciousness by the clear sound of crashing and gunfire. He tried to sit up and cried out in pain as his arm was twisted backwards with a splintering tingle of both pain and pins and needles. He reached up, twisting his neck and tried to get himself free, he could feel metal under his fingers and realized it wasn't rope he was tied with. He was chained.

He wriggled and growled angrily all the while he could hear things breaking and weapons clashing. He wanted to get free and find Arthur and beat the shit out of him with a hockey stick for what he had done, hell! He would get his entire hockey team to help him and stuff the fucking puck up the damn Brit's ass! He had no right to- there was no excuse! As soon as he found Ivan and told him he loved him of course!

Suddenly a bewildered and scare looking Toris stumbled through the door. Slamming it shut and catching his breath before he caught sight of Matthew and stared. Matthew glared at him.

"Let me go!"

"I-I cant! I-I don't h-have the ke-key!" Matthew screamed in frustration, giving a frustrated thrash.

"Let. Me. GO! IVAN!"

X*X*X*X*X

Ivan snarled, ducking into a dodge as Francis's sword swung at him with deadly speed. He had already taken care of the Brit. He had put up a good fight, Managing to put several good hits on Ivan, but despite his speed he had missed the lead pipe swinging for his head by just a millisecond. So now Ivan was being faced on equal terms, weapon to weapon combat. He swung his pipe in a blurring arc, attacking with all he had; this was it. Francis had left to large an opening by mistake and- Ivan froze.

"Matvey…" the voice had rang through his ears so sweetly, filled with fury and desperation. France stared at the Russian as his wide eyes slid half-mast and a dazed expression spread over his face. He looked like he was a million miles over the moon. The edges of his lips twitched up slightly but suddenly pulled downward abruptly, and his eyes darkened again and without even a thought he strode past France.

The Frenchman stood frozen; stunned by what he thought he had just seen before a furiously grinning Belarusian girl whipping her razor sharp knives like a dervish, engaged him in desperate combat.

Ivan strode up the stairs, following the growing sound of a raging Canadian. He could feel himself filled with fury and hope. Had that scream been for him? Had it been a call for him? Had it been what he desperately wanted it to be? Or… had it been… anger that made Matthew call out like that? The though made him falter mid-step… did he really want to face this? Did he…

"IVAN!" this time it was a wail of defeat and anguish.

His thoughts stopped, along with his heart and his steps redoubled. He slammed through the door, making it crunch against the door and scream on its abused hinges. What he saw simultaneously filled him with irritation, euphoria, and gave him a thrill.

His Matvey was chained to a bed, his face slack with surprise and his eyes welling with tears. His body caught mid- thrash and his breath coming in gasps. He was beautiful. Ivan's heart thumped and trembled on the edge of falling out of his chest, aching with worry and fear and affection. He stood frozen in the doorway, barely breathing as the colors of their eyes mixed and melted together.

"I-Ivan…" Ivan barely noticed a fearful looking Toris in the corner as he bolted across the room and nearly threw himself onto the bed looming over Matthew with a cautiously relived look on his face.

"Ivan. You're here…" a smile spread across his face like a dawning sunrise. Ivan felt his worries settle and ducked down to wrap his arms around the Canadian and buried his face in Matthew's sweet smelling shoulder. The last time he had done this Matthew's skin had been wet and slick, the taste of blood on his tongue. Now he was dry and warm and still smelling deliciously of rosehips and sugar. Ivan closed his eyes and breathed it in in huge gasps of pleasure and contentment.

" Da, Matvey… I am here…" Matthew's body twitched as he tried to return Ivan's embrace, sending a twinge of pain through his arms.

"Nnnn… damn these handcuffs…" Ivan pulled away and reached up, grasping the cuffs in his hands and giving a groan as he worked to snap the clasps open. They snapped with a creak and a ratcheting snap, and Matthew's hands were released. He sighed, and his hands fell down around Ivan's shoulders, clenching in the cloth of his jacket and pulling him down so he could a tender kiss to the edge of Ivan's jaw.

The door slammed open and there stood a gasping France, and a little flustered looking Hungary who had apparently been trying to stop him.

Ivan rose up, half dragging Matthew up into his arms. There was a long moment of staring for all in the room. In which several things happened. The first was Francis coming to a realization. The caring way that Ivan had an arm wrapped around Matthew, the fact that Matthew was showing no inclination to get away from the Russian. They pointed to one thing. Matthew had been telling the truth.

The second thing that happened was that England arrived, blood dripping down his face and an absolutely livid expression on his face.

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF MATTHEW YOU FUCKER!"

The third thing that happened was that Matthew pulled away from Ivan, stood up and suddenly there was a dark aura around him and a hockey stick in his hands.

"Hello _Britain._ Your just the person I was wanting to see." He snarled, trembling with pissed off energy. All his muscles tensed in preparation for attack when the big Russian man who had previously been watching with a fair amount of both amazement and amusement stood and wrapped himself around the Canadian. His groundingly firm body pressed to Matthews back and his hands covered the clenched fingers that held the hockey stick with gentle force.

At the same moment Francis slipped his arms under Arthur's and pulled them into a firm pinning hold.

"What in the bloody-!"

"Mon amour, sil-vous plait refroidissez votre colère."

The Englishman turned a fiery red.

"F-frog! I don't speak French you bastard!" the Frenchman hissed something into Arthur's ear and he reddened further.

"Je ne suis pas! I mean- I- Wanker!"

"If you will excuse me and dear Arthur, I will try to make him see sense." With that he dragged the protesting Englishman out the door by the arms, with a far from comforting expression on his face.

"He has a better _punishment _in store, da? Let it go моя влюбленность." Matthew went limp and slumped back into Ivan's body. A sigh escaping his lips and the hockey stick dropped to the ground. Ivan brought Matthew's hands up so that he was holding Matthew's hands and hugging him at the same time.

"I missed you, Matvey."

"I missed you too, Ivan."

X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X

**Okay… that was hard to write for some reason…. Well anyways, only one or maybe two chapters left and maybe, just **_**maybe **_**some lemon meringue pie? Mmm…. Lemon meringue pie…**

**~Sai**


	15. Near

**Okay! I hope everyone is happy, I have decided to put in some very fluffy, detailed, lemon meringue pie after all! Hopefully it doesn't suck… no pun intended… DERP! But I am warning nonetheless, it might be to slow to really get off to… (Don't lie, I know why we all read it so much. ;D)**

**If you don't get it by now; THIS CAPTER CONTAINS SMUT, DON'T LIKE DON'T READ!**

**X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X**

Ivan stood in the hallway, trying to decide where to look for Matthew next. They hadn't parted from each other's company for the last three hours strait, but finally someone had made the suggestion that Ivan and the ladies clean themselves up. How could they refuse? It had been a long while since any of them had bathed, what with all that had been happening. Nevertheless, it had resulted in the two of them being pried apart. And now he was left wandering the unfamiliar halls, trying to find his sweetheart.

Earlier that evening a very self satisfied looking Francis had rejoined them all with the news that Arthur was sound asleep, and wouldn't be waking until tomorrow. There was no question in anyone's mind as to why he was so soundly asleep. America had called later with a—sincere? —Apology for not responding earlier, saying with not a hint of humor but a very falsely innocent tone, that he had been 'getting breakfast'. After that Francis had happily put Hungary and Belarus up for the night—they shared a room—and rather gleefully told Ivan and Matthew that they would have to share a room as well.

Ivan was glad for that, it seemed that at least one of Matthew's family members was willing to try and accept them. Now if he could only _find_ Matthew's room...

He rounded a corner and nearly had a collision with a familiar face.

"O-oh! P-please excuse m-me, M-Mr. Russia!" Ivan blinked then smiled down at the brunet.

"Privyet, Toris. It is quite alright, da?" Toris took a moment to look bewildered and freaked out, backing away a few steps. He wasn't sure what he found scarier, a creepy Russia or a seemingly nice one...

"Uh. I-I'll just be on m-my way t-then, Mr. Russia-"

"Ah! Wait a moment, could you direct me to Matvey's room? I seem to have gotten myself lost." For some reason Toris found himself telling him even though if he had actually thought about it he would have thought it was a very bed idea to do so. Something told him it was alright.

"D-down this hall and to the l-left. I-it's the third d-door on t-the right."

"Spacibo, Toris. See you around, da?" he patted Lithuania on the head gently—only pressing very lightly—and brushed past the Lithuanian in a breeze of soap scented air, leaving a stunned Toris in his wake.

Ivan followed his directions and knocked on the door they lead him too.

"Come in!" the Russian smiled in relief at the sound of his Matvey's voice and entered quietly. "Oh. Hello, Ivan." Matthew smiled at him before returning to the dresser he was busy digging in, hair wet from his own shower, exposing the bare skin of his back to a frozen Ivan.

Ivan stared unblinking at Matthew's bare back, the skin pale and traced with barely visible silver scars. Ivan had never seen Matthew's body clearly… before the room had been cloaked in steam, now it was shockingly clear. He looked so…

Before he could stop himself he had stepped up behind Matthew and was stroking his hands down his pale, soft shoulders, his hands trailing all the way down Matthew's arms and back up with brushing fingers. Matthew stopped searching for a shirt and shivered lightly as Ivan repeated the motion down his sides to the curve of his hips and wrapped his arms around Matthew's waist. Matthew closed his eyes and took a deep juddering breath, but then he felt it. The soft pressure of a kiss pressed to his collarbone…

He spun in Ivan's arms and buried his hands in Ivan's pale hair, pressing their lips together with equal parts love and passion. The touch made their blood fizzle and pop like champagne, and the Russian moved easily to accommodate the change, pressing closer and returning it with fervor. His hands ran slowly over Matthew's back, stroking his damp skin lightly. Suddenly the Canadian pulled away, gasping for breath heatedly, Ivan looked down at him contentedly for a moment before fingers began delicately plucking his shirts buttons undone.

It was a reflex. He didn't even think about it as his hands came up and closed around Matthew's, halting their movements. He looked up at Ivan with confusion and worry, his hands attempting to withdraw themselves.

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't have…" Ivan kept his hold on his sweetheart's hands. Shaking his head slightly.

"It is not… none of us are without our scars… I am just a little…" he stumbled, trying to explain. No one had ever seen his scars before, he wasn't ever sure how his shirt had come off in that bathroom when Matthew had been shot… but never had he consciously allowed someone to see them… they were… "They are… rather shocking to look at… and my heart…" Matthew looked a little puzzled at the mention of Ivan's heart, but he also understanding.

"Show me?" Ivan searched him with his eyes for a long moment before he nodded, stepping back and releasing Matthew's hands. He reached for the fastenings on his shirt and began undoing them nervously. Each one exposing another inch of skin. Finally he shrugged the fabric off of his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

Matthew studied him with gentle, accepting—if a little shocked—eyes. Taking in the many marks on his body.

They were beautiful in a strange way. The familiar sweeping lines of silvery moon pale skin left from blades, the spattering of small milky spots across one shoulder most likely from machine gun fire. And many other marks he could not name. The most shocking obvious however was an oddly heart shaped mark in the appropriate spot for a heart to be. Ivan reached out and grasped Matthew's hand, leading it to that spot, where it touched gently then—Matthew's breath caught— _split the skin _and moved easily _inside of his chest. _

"Ivan-!" his eyes flew to Ivan's face but found no pain there, just apprehensive eyes that met Matthew's anxiously. He couldn't help but look back, fixed on the way his hand was buried inside Ivan's chest. It… wasn't as unpleasant as he expected it to be. It was warm and moist and admittedly a little slippery and slick, but it wasn't _gross. _Just… odd.

"J-just a little deeper, Matvey." _Just a little deeper until what exact- _

"Oh!" he wasn't sure if the cry came from him or Ivan, or both of them at once. It was slick and soft, yet firm, and it was _moving_ beneath Matthew's fingertips. Pulsing and pounding gently in a steady rhythm like a-

"Ivan is that your-?"

"Heart? Da. it is." He sounded a little breathless. Matthew gingerly stroked his fingers across the soft flesh and-

Ivan made the most beautiful and startling sound that Matthew had ever heard in his entire existence: a choked gasp, so full of surprised emotion that it made Matthew's heart skip a beat. Ivan's hand leapt back to his wrist and gently tugged on it urging it—In a way that somehow reassured Matthew with its reluctance and gentleness— out of his chest.

His fingers came away clean and dry as the skin closed, not even giving a hint that there had been an opening where his hand had entered and left. Matthew blinked slowly as Ivan brought his hand to his lips and kissed it, watching Matthew for any sign of freak-out as he did so.

Matthew folded himself in against Ivan's body. He hesitated for a moment before dipping down and kissing the scar over Ivan's heart, reveling in the gasp it tore from the other's lips. He leaned his cheek gently against the spot, finding its heat higher than was natural but pleasant nonetheless. Suddenly something welled inside of him;

Desire.

Boiling, bubbling desire tinged sweetly by the trust Ivan had bestowed upon him and by the heat of affection in his own chest.

"Ivan…" the tone of his voice made Ivan simultaneously tense and melt. It was pure lust, love and longing—and maybe a few other 'L' words as well—all melted into one tantalizingly tempting tone. "I want you… all of you…" Ivan's breath caught for a moment in amazement at the pure surety he heard. It made him…

He scooped Matthew up into his arms and carried him over to the bed, laying him down on it gently. Ivan leaned on one hand so he could take a long look at his soon-too-be-lover. He had the most adorable look on his face, lightly flushed and demurely eager. It was painfully arousing. He carefully imprinted the image into his mind before finally beginning to let himself yield to his desires.

He bent and indulged in a long taste of Matthew's soft, pale skin. Finding the flavor pleasant in its slight bitterness and subtle sweetness. Like pecan pie. Delicious. But not nearly as delicious as Matthew's response; a shiver and a long shuddering gasp. Ivan grinned and did it again, this time nipping lightly at a rosy nipple before laving it with attention, coaxing more little gasps and moans from a squirming Canadian.

He teased his way down Matthew's body, pausing to give a little attention to Matthew's bellybutton, surprised at the intensity of his reaction. Matthew squirmed, giving an absolutely sublime little whimper of pleasure.

The Russian stored that away for later use before teasingly even lower down, skirting the edge of his pajama pants.

"O-ohgod-" Matthew moaned "I-Ivan…" he obliged the breathless plead happily, edging the pants off his lover's hips and down his legs. Matthew hissed as the cloth brushed down the length of his arousal, sending a ripple of pleasure radiating up his entire body. Ivan took a moment to admire him, sprawled and gasping, ready—and willing—for him to claim him. He was beautiful, just enough muscle, lovely skin, mused blonde hair spread on the pillow, eyes filled to brimming with want and love, and _every_ other part of his body perfectly proportioned to him. Perfect but also not flawless and beautiful in his own natural way.

He returned to his ministrations, kissing and sucking at Matthew's inner thigh. "You are so beautiful, Matvey…" he breathed against his skin before his own curiosity got the better of him. Ivan dipped down and licked a bead of precum from Matthew's tip, _mm… sweet? Odd. Not unpleasant but… odd._ Ivan hadn't known it could taste so sweet… he liked it though. Bending down, he took Matthew completely into his mouth, sucking him down greedily, tasting that sweetness.

Matthew couldn't help the cry that burst from his lips at the feeling. The pressure built and built as Ivan did more and more wonderful things to him. "I-Ivan! O-oh- I'm- I'm- IVAN!" Matthew arched, his entire body trembling with the sheer pleasure as he released into Ivan's mouth. He collapsed limply on the bed, panting as the pleasure retreated a bit, leaving him glowing with warmth.

Ivan swallowed it all with satisfaction as he gazed at the sight of Matthew flushed and relaxed, still trembling lightly in the afterglow. The Canadian's eyes fluttered open after a minute or two of basking and he half sat up, grabbing the tails of Ivan's scarf—he was still wearing it despite his state of undress—and pulling him down. He flipped their positions, straddling the wider pair of hips and looked down on a slightly surprised looking Russian. With gentle hands he began to unwind the wool from around Ivan's neck, doing so with a serious, carefulness that didn't fit the situation at all.

Ivan shuddered as cool air caressed newly bared skin, and watched as Matthew pressed the cloth to his face, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply before folding it neatly and placing it delicately on the bedside table where it would be safe. Matthew traced the scars there with his fingertips, softly brushing them with acknowledgment, what he didn't expect was the intensity of Ivan's reaction. A low groan reverberated through his chest and his body twitched, his eyes flying closed and his head tilting back, pleading for more touches. He was happy to oblige him but first Matthew needed something from him.

He held his hand to Ivan's lips, the request clear. Matthew couldn't help but blush as the Russian nibbled on the tips of his fingers. Couldn't help the moan that passed his lips, or the fresh throb the spun through his body. Ivan sucked hard until Matthew—either deeming them wet enough or just to turned on to wait any longer—withdrew them. The hand dropped down behind him, searching, even as he bent and began to lavish attention on Ivan's untouched neck. Ivan didn't hold out quite as well as Matthew had—it was really quite adorable, really—and soon he had turned the panting Russian into a puddle of warm, sticky, goo.

He withdrew his fingers from inside himself, lining Ivan up with himself and pushing down.

"O-Ohhhhhh~!"

His body arched, shuddering as Ivan's impressive girth slid into him stretching and stretching and rubbing sleekly. It was far from comfortable, but it was interesting. Ivan bit his lip fiercely, his hands flying to Matthew's hips and grasping harshly, bracing himself against the feeling of stifling tight heat around him. Finally he gave up on with holding his sounds, letting out a loud groan of bliss.

"M-Matvey~!" Matthew buried his face in Ivan's shoulder, body trembling as he waited for his body to accustom itself. It did slowly. But when it did, it felt _wonderful_. Just the thought that Ivan was _inside _him, _filling _him, heating his body from the _inside _made him gasp and moan in pleasure. He sat back up, crying out at the shifting within him, his cry mixed with Ivan's deep groans. He caught his breath before lifting himself and falling back down, more sounds ripped from their throats.

He lifted and fell, movements growing more feverish. Ivan's hands roughly grasped Matthew's hips, pulling and pushing him, filling and emptying and filling again. Matthew panted with his mouth open, his hand grasping Ivan's, his head thrown back and his body arching in pleasure, a scream of pleasure flew out of him as something inside him was pounded. His body tightened around Ivan's length.

"Ivan…Ivaaaaan, oh! Mmm Ivan~… I- I can- I can't…hold on much longer… AH! Ha~!" his hand had closed around Matthew's length mid sentence, making him scream. His back arched and his hips dove to meet Ivan's. The feeling was incredible as he tightened around him and he gave a cry of his own thrusting up harshly and coming hard inside Matthew. The Canadian gasped at the feeling of liquid heat filling him, it pushed him over the edge and he screamed in release. Ivan watched as Matthew writhed on him, still riding through his orgasm, his body milking every drop of pleasure from his body with pulsing flutters.

Finally Matthew collapsed on Ivan's chest, heat seeping out of him as he withdrew himself from Ivan's length and caught his breath against Ivan's neck. Ivan wrapped his arms around his lover, sated and happy.

"I love you Matvey…" he felt the Canadian smile against his neck as they drowsed in the afterglow and felt no need for a reply, knowing his feelings were returned.

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**Yay~! That was better then I thought! Wonderful! I'm happy with my first bit of smut. *Grin* happy~!**

**~Sai**


	16. Far from the end

**Okay~! This is the last chapter! Just tying a few loose ands up. Its from the point of view of Arthur so… yeah *****grin* **

**Hope you enjoy it!**

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Arthur fumed, damn that French bastard for distracting him especially like that! His face flamed red at the thought, marching down the hallway towards Matthew's room. That Russian had better not have laid a hand on his son! Or else! He growled, raising his fist to pound on the door then thinking better of it and giving a reasonable tap anyways. There was no reply. He knocked again a little louder and turned the doorknob, glaring into the room, expecting to find something _completely _different from what he found his eyes filled with.

Russia and his child were lying tangled in Matthew's sheets, asleep and breathing slowly. The Canadian was sprawled over the Russian, using his chest as a pillow. The marks on his body were obvious but he did not look… hurt. Far from it in fact, a small smile curves his lips, and Ivan's arms were looped loosely around his body, holding him close. His jaw dropped.

It was clear what had happened, and as much as he tried too he couldn't find a single sign that it had been anything but consensual. The Russian was gentle, his features calm and open in sleep; Matthew was relaxed, obviously completely sated. And another thing, he couldn't believe the thought had even crossed his mind but… they were beautiful together in this way. Scars on their loved skin, relaxed in each others presence, the light still on and clothing strewn across the room.

Even as he took this in the Russian twitched and opened his eyes, sleep leaving him quickly as he noticed the Englishman in the doorway. He looked a little troubled, looking down at Matthew, an unmistakable warmth stealing into his eyes before returning his gaze to Arthur. Arthur saw this, recalled Matthews earlier words, and made his decision. It wouldn't be easy; he and Russia were far from friends despite their time in the Allies, there were many grudges. The time in which he could forgive the Russian was far from coming any time soon, but for Matthew's sake… he would put them aside and give Russi- Ivan, a second chance. His voice was low but loud enough for the Russian to hear without waking his son.

"You had better be taking full responsibility for this." The Russian nodded with perfect seriousness. A light of relief and understanding flitted through his serious gaze. Making Arthur shake his head in disbelief at what he was about to say.

"I'm going to work on accepting this, however, lets make something full and bloody well clear, Russia. If you ever do anything that causes him pain I will personally find you, rip out your heart, cook it, and make you eat it. Are we clear? You know what people say about my cooking."

"Da, England. Let us hope it is never necessary, but if it is I'll save you the trouble and do it myself, trust me on that." The Englishman humphed, sweeping them with another glance before retreating from the room with the words:

"Good." He left, missing the happy smile that graced Matthew's features. He had heard the entire conversation.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Francis stared as Arthur came into the kitchen with a small smile on his face. It was clear something had happened, he could only assume it was good based on the lack of screams or angry yelling that was going on.

"Bonjour, Mon cher… what has you in such a good mood?"

Arthur's scowl returned full force and he whacked Francis over the back of the head.

"Never do that again, Frog!"

"What? Drag you off? Or the other thing I did?"

"BOTH YOU WANKER!"

"Au contraire, you really cant call me a wanker after what we did not so long ago…?"

The sound of a smack rang through the house.

"If you don't shut up, you soon will be! For a very. Very. LONG. Time!"

"Alright! Alright! You win!"

"Humph. As always, you idiot."

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**Short last chapter is short! I ended it on a little comedy… lol I like doing that! Thank you all for reading my story and reviewing so much! I appreciated every singly one and they all made me smile! **

**EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. u I still have a few more stories up my sleeve! (And three books full of unfinished fanfiction ideas * sweat drop*)**

**Love you all~!**

**~Seiliez Wingalas**

**P.s. Just in case I haven't said it yet, nothing belongs to me! ****wahhhhhhh! Hic hic wahhhhhh! *Baby wail***


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